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“Nothing,” Taylor blurted out. “I…mostly nothing.”
Peyton narrowed his eyes. “Explain.”
Taylor heaved a sigh, then flopped back further into the cushions. “Okay, during dinner, I texted my friend about your problem. Not that I told him about your masturbation habits in detail or anything,” he added in a rush.
Peyton glowered. “Tell me why I shouldn’t punch you right now.”
“Because this is important,” Taylor said, a hint of a whine in his voice. “You’re miserable and I hate it for you. I fucking hate that the surgery took your pain but it also took something else.”
Peyton’s throat went a little hot and tight. “Okay…”
“While we were eating, he sent me a link, and I kind of just fell down the TikTok rabbit hole of sex toys.”
“Jesus,” Peyton groaned.
“Hear me out.” Taylor shoved his hand into his pocket and grabbed his phone, swiping on the screen. “There’s this company that makes adaptive sex toys. Like, a huge line of them for people with all kinds of needs. Their website has one of those little histories, you know? Like a cooking blog, but less annoying.”
Peyton snorted and rolled his eyes. He was still feeling vague humiliation that Taylor was looking up adaptive sex toys thanks to Peyton’s orgasm issue, but Taylor seemed genuinely concerned for him. And maybe he could admit to himself that if their positions had been reversed, he’d have done the same thing.
“Anyway,” Taylor went on, his eyes on the screen as he scrolled, “the person who started it had some sort of spine injury and decided that there wasn’t enough sex tech out there for disabled people.”
“I’m not,” Peyton started, but he stopped because maybe he wasn’t society’s definition of disabled—but hell, maybe hewas. His body wasn’t the same as it had been. Biting his lip, he took a huge breath, then asked, “So there are toys out there for people who had their assholes sewed shut?” God, his life sounded like one of those body horror movies.
Taylor’s look was soft though, and he shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. But he thought maybe you could look and see if there’s something that might help.”
Peyton’s fingers were faintly trembling as he reached for the phone, hating he was doing this, but also curious. He hadn’t even considered that there could be a company like this, but he also had no faith there was something out there for him.
The videos on the account were mostly trending TikTok sounds and people wagging their eyebrows at the screen with aLookon their faces to imply it was about sex without triggering a ban. And all of the devices looked horrifically complicated.
“I don’t know,” Peyton said quietly as he kept scrolling. He wondered who the founder was, but none of the videos gave any indication.
“Just keep scrolling,” Taylor said. He leaned forward and snatched Peyton’s phone off the table and put in the password Peyton immediately regretted giving him. “Let me follow them on your shit so you can check it out after I leave.”
Peyton didn’t look up at his friend. Embarrassment was creeping back up his spine and he knew it was just going to take time for him to deal with it all.
“Promise me you’ll actually give this a shot,” Taylor murmured very quietly. His long-fingered hand reached out and pulled his phone away from Peyton, and their gazes connected.
After a long beat and a heavy sigh, Peyton nodded. “I promise.” And he meant it. After all, he had nothing else to lose, and everything to gain.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“…andthen he just sendsmyass to the poor man’s house to give them back.”
Hudson only looked up from his design table when he realized that his asshole so-called best friend was talking about him and his neighbor. He pushed his chair back and spun toward the little group who were at the meeting table doing absolutely no work.
“He was cute as a fucking button, too,” Eli went on. “He gave me the worst puppy dog eyes ever.”
“You could have eaten them,” Hudson bit out.
Eli scoffed and waved his hand dismissively. “And ruin my figure? Bitch, no thank you. But if he’d made them for me, I might have at least taken a nibble.”
“That’s because you’re a goddamn doormat,” Hudson snapped. “I’m not a monster because I don’t want some guy’s pity muffins.”
“They were welcome to the neighborhood muffins,” Eli corrected. “And then he what? Made you cookies. And you…”
“Threw them in a fucking trash bag and tossed them on his porch so he’d get the message that I don’t want anything from him,” Hudson said without feeling a scrap of guilt. He hadn’t asked for any of that. He didn’t want his neighbor’s kindness or pity or well wishes…or a goddamn neighborhood welcome.
He just wanted to be left alone.
